On the Lie That is Love
by Violet Raven
Summary: I knew that it shouldn't have lasted as long as it did, but it took you to show me why.


**On the Lie That is Love**

_Author_: Violet Raven

_Rating_: PG-13

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing, Disney owns all. The end.

_Summary_: I knew that it shouldn't have lasted as long as it did, but it took you to show my why. 

_A/N_: Okay, this _may_ warrant a caution on my part, the way it was intended, but seeing as how I don't want to force you to see it the way I do, I won't include any warning. I left it open for a reason, because the theme was not who the "you" was, but Cory's realization, so even though it is obvious who I originally intended it to be, for myself, you really can include anyone you want ((except Topanga)). And seeing as how this is my first Boy Meets World ficcie, as well as my first self-proclaimed "reverse romance" fic, constructive criticisms, not flames, are greatly appreciated. 

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It shouldn't have lasted as long as it did. You were probably more surprised than anyone; in retrospect you always had more faith in me than I did in myself. More faith that I could actually love you, that I would have the strength to last this out- whether or not that was out of faith or hopeless desire it doesn't matter. None of it really matters anymore anyway. 

You know, I remember your lips the most, I think. The taste, warm and musky; nothing like I have ever experienced, and probably nothing like I will ever experience again. Soft skin the color of dawn, perpetually curved into a hypnotic smile.

At the beginning, anyway.

I also remember lying next to you, our fingers tangled together, hair blended in a mess of curls, hair gel and sweat, and both of our eyes affixed on the ceiling.

"Cory," you began in that familiar manner, sleep lacing your words like a drug. "Cory, do you really love me?" It was pure reflection, not condemnation that drove your words, and I fought to ignore the sadness that I recognized so easily in your voice.

"Yeah, of course I do." It was the simple answer; there was no drive forcing it, no questioning, just a straightforward answer like reading from a script. It was exactly what I knew you wanted to hear, and exactly what I wanted to say. But it wasn't good enough for you tonight.

"Oh." I couldn't place that tone in your voice.

"That's it, just 'oh'?" I remember the confusion and fear racing in me just then. I remember how you used to say that you loved me too. But tonight it was 'oh'. "What exactly does that mean?" I forced my tired body to a sitting position, all thoughts on your response, and hands no longer latched comfortably to yours.

"It means nothing. It means… it means 'oh'." You hadn't moved, but I couldn't sit still. "Why are you so afraid of my answer, Cory?" 

You always knew me so well. 

I was incredulous then, but looking back, I'm not sure I should have been. That nonchalant whisp to your voice, so tainted with pain, and me, selfishly afraid that it had meant you weren't in love with me anymore. At least that's what I told myself- and you- that that was why I was afraid.

"We've been together for a year," I cry, "and when I say that I love you, you say 'oh'. Why shouldn't I be afraid?" I was standing now. I still can't remember my feet leaving the bed, but there I was. 

You finally sat up, so calm, brooding, and true to the person you had so recently become, but so unlike any side of you that I had seen before we began dating. Actually, I never saw that side of you before our 6 month anniversary. Something seemed to deflate you somewhere in those few months, something that took away your drive, and I had been so blind not to notice it before this night. You pushed away the covers slowly and with such little effort I doubted briefly that you had even moved. "Is that really why you're afraid? That I'll leave you?" I could tell you didn't believe me. You came towards me then, eyebrows furrowed slightly, and hips swaying ever so gently from side to side. Your determination was unnerving. 

I felt your finger trace a line softly down the side of my face, just enough to make me shiver. Then you took my face in both of your hands, ever so gently, and just gazed into my eyes for a moment with a grim resolve and frown to match.

I didn't understand then, but I suppose I do now. You were trying so hard to see into my soul, maybe to prove yourself wrong, to find any sign of love or fervent connection between us. But I knew right away that you found nothing. You looked as though you had just been stabbed in the back by someone you knew had been there all along; not really surprised, just full of anguish and grief.

If I had known then what you had been doing, I'm still not sure that I would have stepped forward to ease your pain, to assure you of my love. So I just stood there dumbly instead.

"What?" I asked with a little bit of an edge to my voice. "What is going on here?"

You sort of stumbled backwards, chest heaving ever-so visibly with silently dry sobs, and you returned to the bed. "I… I, uh… I want you to leave."

"You _what?"_

"Please." Desperation. How rarely I had seen you this despondent, this much in a tangible state of aching. And even as your best friend, I still could only think of how that affected me. What this meant for me. For a year we had been together and now in a single instance of hurt you took it away.

"Why are you doing this?" I had to stall. I think I may have yelled that last part, but when you replied, your voice was so soft, still so gentle that I can't even remember.

"You lied to me, Cory."

"What are you talking about?" I shouldn't have been so frantic, but I couldn't help it. And I wished that I could have said something intelligent, anything more than grade-school type questions. Who, what, why… And here my best friend was acting like more of an adult than I had ever seen before. You never really ceased to amaze me, you know.

I could tell that you wanted to stand, but it looked as though you just didn't have the strength in you, and for a second I thought you would cry. "You told me that she had nothing to do with this. That day you first kissed me, you told me that."

"Yeah, I remember what I said," I replied curtly with a bit of venom. When the last time was that so much of my anger had been aimed towards you, I can't remember. "And that was a lie?"

You nodded, but not vigorously. Lightly, angelically. I shouldn't have tried to push the issue. Shouldn't have, but did. 

"Yeah." And once again there was no malicious bite, there was no matter-of-fact attitude, there was just you, drowning in melancholy just as you had been for the past few months. "You were too afraid to be alone after Topanga left you. That's the only reason we're together."  
  


"That's ridiculous. _You're _ridiculous." I threw my hands up in frustration, too afraid to obey you and leave our apartment. It was New York City, I had nowhere to go, no one else to turn to, not anymore. "How can you do this to me, just throw it all away?" I was shouting for sure now. 

I remember how your lips got tight, pursed in resolution and anger.  I was terrified of this new side of you, a side that I thought might even physically toss me out. "How can _I _do this?" You pushed towards me, face scrunched in that manner that told me you were fighting so hard to keep your eyes dry. "You _lied to me! You sat there time after time, assuring me that you loved me! Do you know how much that hurts? I __trusted you, I put myself out on a limb for you."_

I wanted to shake you, to make you see just how ludicrous you were being, but you looked so sure of yourself, sure that you were right, that I could feel red making its way up my neck towards my face. I wasn't sure then why I was so defensive, so frightened, but I was. Such unfamiliarly furious insanity pulsing through me. "And you keep saying that! Is it not possible that I am in love with you? Are you God now, that you can tell me how I feel about you?"

"I should be surprised that you don't get it." You shrugged helplessly, a lost little boy with hot liquid confusion pouring down your cheeks. "But I'm not."

"Don't get _what?"  
  
_

"Cor…" that familiar nickname rolled unconsciously off your tongue before you knew what you had said. It had been a mistake. "Cory. You kissed me for the first time the day after you heard about Topanga's new boyfriend. And I made a mistake, I tried to ignore that, to think that it could have just been a coincidence because I so wanted to believe that you could actually want me the way I wanted you; I wanted to believe that you would never lie to me. But you didn't realize it yourself, how could you tell me the truth? And you were just so afraid of being alone that you took advantage of my loving you."

"Took _advantage? Could you make me sound any more like a creep?" I spat. _

"It's true, and you know it."

Of course I knew it. Somewhere deep down it was so obvious, so glaringly lucid, but closer to the surface grew my intentions of ignoring that. I wanted so badly to be able to scream at you, to disprove you right then and there. I just couldn't. Every muscle in my body cried out, begged to be unleashed: to hold you, to tell you that you were wrong and that I was just a fool who didn't deserve you. 

And I don't deserve you. I never did, really. But I still couldn't bring myself to release you from the hurt that was beginning to suffocate you. Because, it hit me just then, you were right, you were absolutely and completely correct. 

You always knew me so well.

"The only reason you're shaking right now," you whispered, too drained to raise your voice any more, "is because you're terrified that now that you are alone again, you don't think you'll be in another relationship ever again. It has nothing to do with me. I was only the rebound guy with hopes higher than they should have been."

I should have wiped the tears from your eyes, from your cheek. Should have. So many should haves.

But I was just so completely stunned by the ramifications of your revelation, your accusations. I had no words, no apologies, no defense, no nothing. Just that vision of your face, downcast and pallid, so broken. What could I do? I couldn't will my body to move. So we sat in a disconsolate silence for what seemed like hours before either of us could even consider moving.

God, you looked so vulnerable, I did the only sensible thing that I could think of. I pulled you tight into my arms. And after a second when you finally succumbed to the embrace, I felt emotion pulsing through me, felt myself soaking your shirt with tears of my own. 

And in such a mess of desolation, you took on the reassuring role. I had drawn you in and forced you to be the strong one when it was you who needed the consoling. 

"Shh," you soothed, gently rocking us both, the cadence of your heart swift and accelerated in this overwrought moment of truth. "Everything will be all right, I promise." We both knew then and there that your promise had been a hollow one, that you really had no idea if anything after this would be okay, but we accepted it in silence and moved on.

And suddenly we were on the bed, still holding each other chastely, and hardly aware which of us had led us back to a sitting position. 

"You don't have to leave, okay? I'm sorry I said that." I looked up in confusion, hoping that you had changed your mind, and that everything would go back to the way it was, such blissful ignorance.

But you continued.

"I'll just sleep on the couch until I can find a place for myself."

"Please. _Please don't do this," I begged, wishing that I didn't have to sound so desperate._

The smile that you flashed me was consumed by a heartbreaking fondness. I wiped the tears from my eyes to clear that moist haze that had blurred your face.

"Hey," you voiced with that conundrum smile in an effort to comfort me, "the hardest part is over with."

No, I corrected in my head, the hardest part is living alone now, and that is only just beginning.

I didn't even realize then that my misery had nothing to do with that fact that I was losing our relationship, and more specifically you, but had everything to do with the fact that I was wrought with anxiety of living without a lover. 

And that had been your biggest fear, I knew.

You know, I remember how you looked more dejected than I had, how for three weeks of living together as friends you had hardly met my eyes, and how on the day you moved out I stared blankly at the walls from inside your room in an effort to wake from this nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare, really, it was an understanding. What Mr. Feeny might call a growing experience. Pain makes people grow just as much, if not more, than exhilaration, than contentment. 

And we always learn those lessons too late. 

Maybe I could have learned to love you, or maybe we would have just gone on living a lie to keep ourselves happy. But speculation, hindsight, they never do anything but raise 'what ifs'. And after years of focusing on retrospect, and discovering more 'what ifs' than I knew ever existed, I have come to realize that none of it really matters. You want hindsight? I hurt you, I tore you apart by not caring, and gave you nothing in terms of apology or any sign that you mattered. What else matters?

Even if I screamed this from the highest mountain in hopes that you would hear it from wherever you are now, I know that you'll never really get to hear my apology. And saying it enough times in my mind hardly makes for reality. So I will settle for writing it down, and move on. 

I die now, knowing the pain I brought you.  And I can only pray that you knew that anyways, despite my actions, the day that you left me.

Because you always knew me so well.

~FiN~


End file.
